


better than the original

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Skye | Daisy Johnson/Grant Ward, Post-Episode: s04e17 Identity and Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10612317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: It's time Grant got some answers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This definitely has some major spoilers for 4x17 if you haven't seen it yet, and while I know from the promo that 4x18 will ruin this, I couldn't help wanting the conversation to happen this way.

Grant doesn’t know why he goes looking for her. Maybe it’s just the right thing to do. Maybe it’s because she’s the only other person on base who knows Skye. Maybe it’s that itch to take another shot at figuring out what the fuck is going on. Whatever the reason, his options get kinda limited once he finds her.

Simmons is in the base’s only working lab but she’s not. Working, that is. She’s sitting in the dark on a stool, staring into space.

He taps one of the workstations as he passes since she’s kinda got this look like an a-bomb could drop right next to her and she’d never know. “Hey.”

“Coulson told me about Daisy.”

Grant knows Simmons doesn’t like him. It’s there in the way she talks to him, looks at him - hell, it’s even in the way she stands around him. There’s something personal about it too. There are people she’s indifferent to - most of the agents here, frankly - and then people she’s warm with - Coulson and Mace and, in a weird way, even that Radcliffe guy.

She was aiming a gun at him the whole time and was obviously pissed, but she talked to him like… He can’t put his finger on it. He’s not sure he needs to anyway. The point is she doesn’t treat Grant like anybody else; he’s in a category all his own.

He doesn’t like it.

“Good,” he says. He grabs a stool and drags it across the floor. It squeals all the way, worn down feet scraping over concrete. Once he’s got it right in front of her, he sits. She pulls her legs in so their knees don’t quite touch, but she doesn’t get up to walk away. Which is good, ‘cause he wouldn’t have let her go. “I’m not giving up on her-”

“Neither am I,” she says quickly, almost like a challenge. He’d thought, at first, that maybe her hatred of him was because of Skye, that maybe Simmons had a thing for her and wanted Grant out of the way. Her little show on the island put paid to that theory though.

“-but it’s gonna take time to get her back. It’ll be tricky.” She’s eyeballing him, sizing him up in a way he doesn’t like at all. He rests his palms over his knees, leaning forward. “So I think it’s time you told me what’s going on here.”

 _Now_ she wants to escape. She’s not subtle about it either - marking exits, checking the distance between them to make sure that yeah, he really can grab her before she makes it more than an inch.

“It’s … complicated.”

“All right,” he says because he kinda figured from all he’s heard so far. “Let me give it a go then: you’re from another world.”

She flinches so bad she nearly falls off the stool.

“Ho- how did you-?”

“You weren’t exactly quiet about it out there. And besides, I’ve been a double agent long enough to know about Project Looking Glass.”

Her forehead wrinkles and her eyes narrow in a mixture of confusion and suspicion, like him telling her about a secret HYDRA project is proof he’s a triple agent or something. Jeez.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that is,” she says.

“Really?” His voice is mocking only because her superior tone invites it; he means the question sincerely. He leans forward, closer into her personal space. “You mean to tell me you’re not here to stop Madame Hydra from getting revenge and destroying your entire world?”

“Revenge?” She’s really confused now. But it only lasts a moment before she’s asking, “ _Destroying?_ ”

He sits back. “You didn’t know.”

“Of course not!” She slips off the stool and he lets her walk away. She only goes so far as the next row of lab benches before she’s circling back. “We’re only here to-”

He smiles. She’s confirmed his suspicions. And she knows it too. She backs up she bumps into the edge of the lab bench.

He moves slowly to his feet. “You and Skye. She’s not from here either.”

She looks like she’d really like to make a run for the door so he takes two quick strides to close the distance between them. Her breath hisses and for a second it looks like she might be so scared she’s gonna climb up on the table like he’s a rat.

He wraps his hands around her arms. She’s steady, solid, but her heart is pounding. “I looked you up after the other night. Jemma Simmons was at the Academy. She died.”

“I told you. I took a bullet and had to-”

She cuts off when he tightens his grip. “ _Ten years ago_. You expect me to believe you’ve been laying low all this time? With no ID, no papers, no nothing?”

She squirms, but he’s not about to let her go running to Mace or Coulson. Not that he’s afraid of either of them, but Coulson’s got an obvious soft spot for her and Mace may act like he hates it, but the hero worship’s got him warming up to the guy. They’ll take her side and Grant’ll get nothing.

“You’re from that other world. And so is Daisy. So I’ve only got one question for you.”

“ _What_ ,” she demands, holding off on fighting him now she’s realized it’s useless.

“What did you do with my Skye?”

He keeps his expression firm while she stares. If he lets slip, even for one second, she’ll see how fucking terrified he is. If she sees that, he’ll lose the only advantage he’s got here. Because these people have Skye and the only thing that’s ever mattered is-

He slips. Not because of him, because of her. There’s hate and fear and a whole lot of calculation going on in there, but in the middle of it all is this flash of pity that nearly knocks him to his knees.

“No,” he breathes. His whole world goes sideways and it takes an eternity for it to right itself (that’s funny, like anything can ever be right again), but it can’t be more than a heartbeat because she’s still calculating how best to play him when he snaps back. He tightens his hands until he can feel her bones. She cries out, but this late at night no one’s around to hear. “What did you do to her?” he demands, aware his voice is edging up on a roar. “ _Tell me!_ ”

“Nothing!” she yells. That isn’t the tone she uses with him. There’s no barely leashed condescension or hate, it’s all high-pitched terror. “We didn’t- She was never real!”

She keeps saying that, talking about what’s real and what’s not.

He lets her go, but doesn’t give her space to breathe. “What the hell does that mean?”

Her head’s bent like a dog afraid of another beating and she rubs at her arms while she holds them close to her body, the better to protect herself from him. He can’t say he likes Simmons - he tried to play nice and she refused to budge on her feelings for him, kinda leaves a guy with a bad taste in his mouth - but damned if he doesn’t feel like the abusive boyfriend here.

“Skye - the woman you knew,” she says carefully, “she was never real.”

He nearly steps back from that, but his training anchors him. His own feelings are gonna have to take a back seat to getting some answers here. “How long have you been infiltrating this world?”

She finally looks up at him. Her throat works, her mouth opens and closes on empty air. “It’s not that simple.”

“So _simplify it_.” He’s done following her lead like some mindless drone. He played that game with HYDRA because they had what he wanted. Now he doesn’t know what he wants even exists.

She takes a deep breath. “We’re not infiltrating,” she says slowly. “We’ve been _taken_.”

He eases back, just a hair. It seems to help her find her voice.

“Aida- Madame Hydra, she’s been stealing people from our world and- and inserting them into this one, implanting them with false memories to keep them docile. She’s imprisoning us.”

“People like the doctor?”

That’s the wrong thing to say. She was freaked out before with him looming the way he was, but now she seems to crumple.

She doesn’t fall though, which is damn impressive given how bad she obviously wants to. “Yes,” she says, only a slight tremor in her voice.

“Coulson?” he asks, hoping to get that faraway, brokenhearted look off her face.

She only nods.

He takes another step back, trying to process this. If this is true, Madame Hydra’s been kidnapping people for _years_. He can’t say for sure with Coulson, but the doctor’s been around for years. If he’s not real…

“Who else?” he asks. “The doctor, Coulson, that Radcliffe guy, Skye-” she flinches, which is as good as a confirmation- “who else?” That’s not what he means, not quite. There’s a more precise question he’s afraid to have answered.

She’s smart. She knows what he’s not willing to ask. “Not you.”

“But I’m like you,” he presses. “There’s another me over there just like there was another you over here.”

She nods cautiously.

He grins. “And you don’t like him.”

“I hated him.”

Past tense. Interesting. He doesn’t kid himself those feelings have changed; they’re both dead in each other’s worlds.

“He was my friend - and Daisy’s - and he betrayed us. Kidnapped us both on separate occasions. Killed good agents.” Her expression shifts in a way he can’t define. “He particularly enjoyed torturing people. I don’t think anyone is sorry he’s dead.”

That explains why Skye doesn’t love him anymore.

Two days ago she was heartbroken when he turned down her offer to move in - she was a good sport about it, but he’s known her long enough to know when she’s hurt and hiding it - and last time he saw her, she barely even gave him the time of day. That wasn’t her getting him back. She just didn’t _care_ anymore.

Whoever he was in this other world, the memory of that guy was enough to turn her a full 180 in a matter of hours.

“You think it’ll be that easy with-” he hesitates over the name; he’s always known it, but it’s weird using it- “Fitz?”

She crosses her arms, lifts her chin in that superior way again. “What do you mean?”

“I met Skye two years ago when she was fresh out of basic and HYDRA teamed us up on an op. Before that, her file’s pretty much empty. No family, only a few friends she was only too happy to drop once HYDRA took her in. I’m guessing that means she’s been here three years tops. But the doctor? He’s been here what? More than a decade? And you think after all he’s done, you can just flip the switch and he’ll be better?”

“He’s been brainwashed,” she says dismissively, but he can see that lip quivering. “Once he remembers who he is, it won’t matter. None of this will…” She goes far away again, just for a second, then her focus snaps back. “It’s not as though he’s-” She cuts herself off, hate-filled eyes fixed on him. “He’s not a _monster_.”

“He tortures people. Every day. Now, they may not be your people, but they’re still _people_.” One of them is her people though. Grant can taste bile at the thought of Skye at the doctor’s tender mercies.

He should’ve shot him while he had the chance and consoled Simmons after.

She’s shaking her head again, like she just can’t believe the man she loves would be capable of that.

“He killed a woman today,” Grant reminds her, “or did you miss that?”

She makes this sound - high and sharp - when her breath catches and for a second he thinks _she’s_ been shot, caught by a sniper. She’s so pale and that faraway look’s back for a second time, but when her breathing picks up again it’s too fast, too shallow. Fuck.

He wanted her to hurt because he’s hurting, because Skye is, but he didn’t want- Fuck.

He wraps her in his arms. She goes stiff - because she hates that other him, probably - but it’s only for a second. She’s too tired and too scared that he’s right to refuse comfort. She clings to his shirt while she cries against his chest.

She doesn’t fit against him the way Skye does - and he can’t remember Skye ever crying like this with him - but she’s so small there’s something innately satisfying about holding her like this, letting them both pretend he can protect her from all the bad things in the world.

He rubs his hand up and down her back until her shaking stops, then just curls his fingers around the back of her head while he waits for her to be ready to let him go. Or to come to her senses and push him away.

She surprises him by doing neither. When her fingers release their death grip on his shirt, it’s so she can wrap her arms around his back in what he decides to very tentatively call a hug.

“He did this once,” she sighs, turning her face so her cheek rests over his chest. “Held me while I cried.”

He doesn’t know anything about that other guy so there’s no telling what words might snap her out of this suddenly warm attitude towards him. He decides, for the moment, to stick to non-word answers and gives an inquisitive sounding grunt.

“I nearly died.” Her head tips against his chest. “Then nearly died again. He saved me. It was all a play, of course, meant to make us trust him.” There’s no change in her carefully unaffected tone but he can feel the way it hurts her to admit it. “But he held me after while I cried and he told me I was brave.”

He runs his hand down her back again. “He was an ass.”

She laughs. He doesn’t hear it, but he feels it in the way her chest jumps against his. “Yes. He was.”

She steps back and he drops his hold. He feels cold without her, but that could just be the tears staining his shirt.

She tips her head, studying him carefully. “You’re still very much like him.”

He feels like he should be insulted, but there’s this something in the air between them now; it might be understanding.

“But you’re not him.”

He smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He gets to see her smile for the very first time as she walks out of the lab. “You absolutely should.”

 


End file.
